Mack
by Gomes
Summary: [GC, minute NS] Oh the shark bites, with his teeth dear...xXChapTwoXx
1. Me thinks the lady doth protest to much

TITLE: Mack

AUTHOR: Gomey

ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag...hehe.

RATING: R (violence, language and sexual situations)

SPOILERS: S5 (maybe)

DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.

SUMMARY: Oh the shark bites with it's teeth, dear...

NOTES: This is in response to the September Graveshift challenge. It is based on spoilers, assumptions and dreams.

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The wind nipped at her rosy cheeks, which displayed a mixture of chill and the cheap blush she had innocently pocketed at the store. Rubbing her hands together, she exhaled hotly in a vain attempt to grant her iced fingertips some relief. Shoving her hands roughly in her pockets, she brought her legs closer together, each limb selfishly drawing strength from the other, through the torn fishnet stockings that encased them.

"Bloody hell..." She muttered, jumping up and down in order to regain circulation lost. "C'mon..." Her eyes scanned the darkened streets, knowing that the sensible ones had remained indoors; the smart customers cuddled up to their wives and the insane ones brave enough to face the cold, were probably already knee deep into someone else's business.

A car pulled up and she instantly recognized the markings on the side of the door. She took a step back and ignored the person in front of her, hoping that suspicion did not awaken.

"Ma'am?" The passenger side window rolled down, allowing his deep voice to attract her attention. "It's not safe out here, alone."

"I'm waiting for a friend...to come pick me up." Stutters, hesitance and the blatant fear in her eyes fuelled her pitiful lie, and she hoped that this stranger wouldn't chance a move.

"Come on in."

The door swung open and she stared at it, wide-eyed. "Please...don't..." She held up her hands in defence, hoping that he would just leave her be.

"I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart." The man said, and held her gaze, coaxing her with his dark eyes.

She sighed, reluctantly stepping away from the cold, away from her fears and away from good reason. "I didn't do anything wrong, officer." She huffed, crossing her arms atop her chest, perhaps in an action to cover her lack of innocence or merely for the purpose of staying warm.

He glanced to his left, eyeing the woman in the passenger seat. "Look, you just need to stay out of the cold and there have been prowlers on the loose - four women have been murdered so far, as I'm sure you know." The ride grew silent, only interrupted by the shuffling of material or an errant cough. "Where can I drop you off?"

She glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings and then at the police officer, panic building without logic. She spied an abandoned warehouse and pointed to it, chancing a walk back to familiarity instead of spending more time in the company of a policeman. "Here." The car jerked to a halt and she climbed out, stopping in front of the door.

"You be safe now, y'hear?" He called out, before rolling up the window and cruising away.

She watched the car drive away just as common sense finally returned from its momentary hiatus. "Shit." She walked a few steps, but found no trace of the car's existence. Her emotional side kicked in, and warm tears cooled in the whipped winds as she realized her current situation: stranded, frigid...scared. Wrapping her arms tightly around her body, she tried to concentrate on the noises around her, vigilance attempted in vain realization. The clicking of her heels on the sidewalk created a calming rhythm, and she doted on it to guide her sanity towards reason.

She stopped short, hearing steps fall out of rhythm. Her heart sped up as she briskly walked, ignoring suspicion behind her. Walking turned to running which in turn evolved into a light job, finally ended by a sprint. She chanced a tight turn, stopping short in front of a dead end. She felt the blade near her throat, feeling the intruder's body pressed up against hers from behind.

"Against the wall..." The hoarse whisper spat in her ear, pushing her towards the brick wall that had been given the task of deciding her fate.

The tears dropped and whimpers were let loose, but she wouldn't let him hear her scream...she wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

"Drop yer knickers."

His venomous demand made her shiver, and she bent down, wiggling her body from her last shred of dignity. She was in the habit of controlling them - not of being controlled. She held the power: her body was something they craved, they worshipped...and now it was being ransacked, taken for granted. The blade pressed further into her neck, and she felt blood droplets land on her chest. A stinging pain graced her neck before she collapsed on to her knees; a gurgled cry for help being the last noise she heard...or made.

* * *

"I don't understand why I can't go, Grissom."

Gil sighed, sitting heavily in his chair. She had followed him from the break-room to his office, reasons streaming out of her mouth why she would be a better candidate to accompany him than anyone else in the lab. He glanced up, seeing the familiar strawberry-blonde in the doorway, looking at him with a mixture of pity and mockery.

"If Catherine goes - who'll be in charge of the lab?" Sara huffed, folding her arms across her chest. She followed his gaze, turning around in the chair and glaring at the senior CSI.

"Sara, I still haven't decided who's going to accompany me, but you should know by now that we work as a team, and each case exploits the CSI's specialities." Gil tried to reason with the younger CSI, realizing that his attempts were all but lost. She was a great asset to the team, but terribly set in her ways, which often lead to childish responses on her behalf.

Sara stood up abruptly. "Just don't shut me out, Grissom." She turned on her heel and sulked out, leaving both CSIs staring after her.

"Me thinks the lady doth protests to much." Catherine took Sara's place, stretching her legs and resting them on her supervisor's desk.

His eyes snapped to hers, humour twinkling brightly. "Hamlet...I'm impressed." He offered her a rare smile, before opening a folder on his desk. "So, have you reached a decision?"

She nodded, her golden curls following her movement. "Yeah, Nancy agreed to put Lindsey up for a week."

"And Lindsey's okay with this? I know you were hesitant to ask her -"

"- yeah, we talked it out. On a completely unrelated matter, we're going to Disney World next month." Catherine dead panned, shaking her head with a smile. "My daughter: the devil's advocate."

"...wonder where she gets it from?" Gil muttered under his breath, purposely ignoring her silent warning.

"So, will you be breaking the news to the famed protegee or will I have the pleasure of doing so?"

He raised his eyebrow, humour ever present in his eyes. "I'm thinking of letting Nick head the department until we return."

"Ah," she smiled, placing a hand over her heart, "still feeling guilty over the lost promotion?"

"He deserved it, Cath." Gil weighted his decision. "The least I can do is show him that I trust his judgement and his skills as a CSI."

Catherine nodded and checked her watch, motionning to him that it was time to meet with the rest of the team. They walked side by side down the hall, both spying the break-room ahead. "Like sheep being lead to the slaughterhouse..." Catherine commented, casting her supervisor a side-glance.

—TBC—


	2. Journey’s end in lovers meeting

The two senior CSIs stepped into the bustling break room, taking in the chatter, jokes and discussions that hummed, vibrating off the walls and seemingly transforming the usual tranquil room into a zoo-like phenomena.  
  
Catherine sighed, accidentally making eye-contact with the bold brunette who was ever keen on slicing her with a daggered stare. Her eyes soon found his, and she basked in the comfort they offered. Smiling thanks, she rested her weight on one leg, her body inadvertantly brushing up against his.  
  
Gil inhaled sharply, casting a sideways glance to his partner. Clearing his throat, he too subconciously neared her body, reciprocating the pressure she was offering. "We've been called out to head an investigation over seas..." Gil began, gaining the attention of his team.  
  
"Ooh, who's the lucky one to get a free round trip?" Greg's eagerness showed through as he sat up, rubbing his hands together.  
  
"All expenses paid?" Nick scoffed, his interest presenting itself blatantly. "I can deal with the jet lag."  
  
"Hey man, another town - another murder." Warrick's usual indifferent expression brought a sense of reality to the other two hopefuls.  
  
"So who's going?" Sara filled everyone's expectations of bluntness and curiosity.  
  
"Given the nature of the crime, and accepting the fact that a lot of blood work is in demand, the board of directors and I see it fit that Catherine's skills as a blood spatter specialist be employed." His intent was curt, leaving no room for discussion.  
  
"Typical."  
  
The entire team shared a look before tossing their attention to the young CSI.  
  
"Sair." Nick tried to calm his co-worker, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to get her to relent her crusade for their supervisor's affection.  
  
"In Catherine and my absence...Nick," Gil turned to the younger CSI, "I'm trusting you with the lab." With that, he left the room, closely followed by Catherine.  
  
"This is so typical of him!" Sara stood up, shrugging off the Texan's hand that, moment's ago, had claimed heat from her shoulder.  
  
"Sara, relax okay?" Nick looked to Warrick and Greg for help, only to note of their convenient absence.  
  
"Why not me, Nick?" She clenched her fists with anger. "Is he doing this just to piss me off?" She let out a tight smile. "Or is he just looking for an opportunity to jump into bed with her?"  
  
He let out a sigh, falling to the couch with defeat. "Maybe -you're- the reason why he didn't chose you." He spoke softly, but steadily.  
  
"What?" Anger and surprise meddled, causing her voice to raise slightly.  
  
Normally, such a tone would intimidate the recipient, but Nick sat unmoving. "Don't you think Grissom is wise to your intent, Sara? I mean, we all know your desire doesn't lie solely within the case..."  
  
Pressing her lips together, she turned on her heel, heading straight for the door.  
  
"Ask yourself this, Sara - "  
  
His voice stopped her, and she turned slowly, knowingly facing the one who never failed to bring truth into her life. Closing her eyes briefly, she sometimes wished he wasn't her personal touchstone, wanting him to realize that the truth often hurts.  
  
"If it was me or Warrick...would you have put up such a fight to go?" He watched her exit the room, her brow crinkled with a furious but pensive air. Sighing, he thrust his hands into his pockets, directing his steps towards his temporary office. He passed the locker room, his eyes taking in her vulnerable state. "Sara."  
  
She felt the bench shift slightly, and made no effort to retreat from the welcoming warmth his body offered to her. "You're right, you know." Her head bowed, she bit her confessionned lips, wanting to express but afraid of the repercussions.  
  
He held out his hand, a welcoming gesture that surprised both the young CSIs. "Partners - until they get back."  
  
She placed her hand in his, smiling slightly at the tingling sensation that coursed straight to her toes. No touch had ever affected her in such a manner and her eyes snapped to his face, curiosity and fear bubbling behind her dark eyes. "Partners." It was softer, and she wasn't sure if the unconscious had stalked a different intent.  
  
Hands still connected, he gave her a bright smile. "I'll help you through this, Sara - trust me." Getting up, his hand comfortably slid out of her grasp, and he headed once again, towards their supervisor's office.  
  
"Don't I always?" The pensive question was directed to herself; mirroring an inner monologue with the sole purpose of revelation.  
  
"Sair..." He watched her eyes find his, an eyebrow quirked upwards. "Just don't swear off men, okay?" Another smile brightened up the room. "It'd be a real shame..."  
  
She watched his form leave again, though her eyes rested on her memory's picture that she had snapped moments before his exit. The twinkle in his eye held a playful undertone, and she suddenly found herself intrigued by his recent statement. She got up, not realizing that she was heading towards Gil's office where Nick was settling in. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her, startling the young Texan. "Shame? Shame for who?"  
  
He heard the lock click, and flashed her a mischievous smile.

* * *

Catherine stepped out of the taxi and made her way to the trunk. She picked up an her supervisor's overnight bag, and placed it on the curb behind her. Dipping into the trunk, she struggled to reach for both of her suitcases, letting out a frustrated grunt as one stubborn piece of luggage refused to see day's light.  
  
"Typical - sticking me with the bill..." Gil mumbled, walking towards his strawberry-blond counterpart. He stopped short, his mouth slightly open and eyes minutely glazed over while taking in the heavenly view that had been presented to him. His eyes trailed up her toned legs to her shapely thighs, which led his gaze to her firm buttocks.  
  
"Gil - you want to give me a hand?" Her muffled demand echoed through the trunk, followed by a few cusses.  
  
Mouth dry, he cleared his throat and gently pushed her out of the way. Giving a final tug to the suitcase, he managed to free it from its captivity, and he placed it on the curb beside his overnight bag. Closing the trunk, he waved to the cab driver, and both CSIs watched it drive off. They simultaneously turned, staring at McCarron International Airport.  
  
"And so our journey begins..." A pensive comment slipped out of her mouth, reaching his ever attentive senses.  
  
His rich tenor voice sought out her ears, and her keen sense of hearing singled it out amidst the chaosed traffic of voices and cars that surrounded them. "Journey's end in lovers meeting, every wise man's son doth know..."  
  
The two shared a gaze, surprise and dare both present within the flirty nature their banter had adopted.  
  
—TBC— 


	3. Such Great Heights

Disclaimers et all in Chapter One

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He stared outside the window, watching technicians run their final check before christening the plane's journey. He inhaled sharply through his nose, following the inherent rhythm of his breath, and a minute smell of citrus caressed his senses. So unaccustomed to the arousing smell of a woman's perfume, his eyes sought the bearer of such a pleasant aroma.

"I love first class."

Her comment brought a smile to his lips, and his eyes embraced her graceful body, not having heard nor felt her take seat beside him. He spotted the tall orange-graced glass, but their friendly history already clued him in on the not-so-pure contents contained within. A raised eyebrow was all that was needed to speak his mind.

"It helps me fly." Catherine's voice mirrored that of a young child: no matter how making episodes of scolding, innocence still brought forth trust.

"Thank goodness you're not a pilot..." Gil muttered, buckling up as per the captain's request. He side-spied her, noting her intent to finish her calming brew before take off. Impulse caught him off guard and he soon found himself reaching over her form, grasping both parts of the belt, prepared to buckle on her behalf.

Catherine's eyes grew wide as she downed the rest of her drink, feeling her supervisor's hands close to her waist. The warm weather had incited her to don a cropped t-shirt, exposing her tight abdomen to the appraising and jealous alike.

The feel of his hands against her heated skin caused a moan to erupt from deep within, but she curbed any sign of effect he offered, by swallowing her emotion with the rest of her drink.

He smiled secretly, having felt her stomach spasm slightly in reaction to the light brushing his fingers had experienced. He listened for the click, no rushing intended, and gently placed the belt against her lap, creating a gentle pressure against the top of her pelvis.

He slowly raised his eyes, seeking her reaction, as his hands dared to linger; half on her low-rise jeans, half against her bare skin. He looked at her through his lashes, a small grin taking in her tense state - tension caused by his impish actions.

She let her eyes slip shut, feeling her mouth slowly pull open to accept exhalation's desire to escape.

Her breath longingly left her lips, wispy and curiously arousing to his senses. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hold said breath within him: breath equalling life, her life fulfilling his desire to live. He wanted to hold her breath captive within the confines of his mouth - to feel her energy inside him and taste the very essence of her.

"Refill?"

Fate took on the role of an overly chipper stewardess, complete with placebo medicated smile.

Catherine glanced up to meet interruption's eyes, and held the intrusion's gaze, all the while still feeling his stare on her. His intent warmed her, battling welcome and uninvited sensations, causing them to stem from her core and expand outwards.

Only when he withdrew his hands from her skin did she re-acknowledge his presence - only when he settled back in his seat did she allow herself to breathe again. She watched the stewardess walk off with her empty glass dangling precariously between two fingers, having declined further tongue- loosening juice. She turned her head discreetly, eyes leading the way to desire.

He felt the plane jolt sharply, and begin a slow paced journey, quietly building up speed to prepare for ascension into the barren skies, void of clouds or distractions. He watched her reflection in the glass, knowing that he was within her view. He quickly altered his own, with a quick swing, holding a direct stare. A hand darted out, holding his as the plane tilted upwards, pushing them back into their seats. "Calm yet?"

She scoffed at his smug humour, not offering an answer; save for a small puff of breath, and a gentle separation of their previously joined hands.

After a few moments of silence, followed by the captain's permission of a more comfortable environment, Gil took out his laptop and placed it on the fold-out-tray in front of him. He unbuckled his seatbelt while relaying a little ground information to the strawberry-blonde seated beside him. "Okay, I asked the lead detective for some information -"

"- why exactly are we going to London?" Catherine asked bluntly, curiosity blossoming with a sudden jolt.

"What do you mean?" He asked non-chalantly, typing loudly on the keyboard in front of him.

She eyed his beautiful hands for a moment; taking in his beautiful, long and nimble fingers darting erratically over the keyboard, though hitting the desired keys. Her eyes then floated back to his face, unable to weather missing pieces in a puzzle. "This is out of our jurisdiction, Gil..." Her tone was expectant of an answer, and she let out an impatient breath. "So why -"

"- a friend needed a favour, they're stumped." He interrupted her question, filling her in with a minute amount of resistance. "The London PD..." He answered her unposed questions.

"Ah..."

"Samuel Buckley...his daughter was one of the three victims." Gil's tone turned grim. "He's not working the case, because he's too emotionally involved, but he e-mailed me seeking help. 'I need someone I can trust...' was what his e-mail consisted of. He's an old friend, and it's the least I can do."

"And what do I have to do with this brew?" Her dazzling smile inched into view, selfishly asking inane questions to keep his rich voice fresh in mind.

"I have blood spatter experience, Catherine, but your skills far exceed my own."

"And here I was thinking this was an elaborate set-up to woo me." She jested dreamily, nudging him in the ribs. "So, fill me..." lashed gaze found his quirked eyebrow, "in on the details."

Grinning, he flipped the armrest up, allowing her space to sit close; half-selfishly craving her energy, half as a courtesy to straining eyes.

She placed a hand on his thigh, leaning in close, comfortable being in his personal space, and very much at ease knowing the discomfort she was causing him with such contact.

Taking a deep breath, he scrolled through the images displayed on his laptop. "How well do you know your Bobby Darin?" He remarked, cryptically. Smiling at her furrowed brow, he leaned in slightly, addressing her with a lowered voice. "Oh the shark bites, with it's teeth dear..."

She closed her eyes momentarily, enjoying his rich tenor voice tackling the familiar words. "Mack the Knife?"

"In 1888, East London was at the mercy of a serial killer, who's identity still remains a mystery to this day." Gil began, his professional mode kicking in. "He was also known as the 'White Chapel Murderer', because most of the killings took place in Whitechapel, Spitafields, or 'Leather Apron'."

"And was never caught." Catherine stated, familiar with the legendary murderer.

"No, and he always left the bodies in plain site, horribly mutated as a final degradation." Gil sighed, staring out of the window. He smiled, feeling her give his thigh a gently squeeze of support. "Police are still not sure how many people he killed -"

"You think 'Leather Apron' was a man?" Catherine interrupted him with a challenge.

"A male would fit the criminal profile, and given the mutilation of the bodies, and the manor in which they were disposed, science and psychology leads us to believe that Mack is in fact, a man."

"What do you mean?" She asked, her eyes on the laptop screen, taking in dates and names while her supervisor gathered his thoughts.

"Investigation has led us to believe that he seized them by their throats and strangled them, while their hands were busy holding up their skirts. He then would lower the unconscious body to the ground, always making sure that the head was placed to the left, and he never threw the bodies, for there were no post-mortem bruising." Gil continued, stopping himself upon viewing a sparkled challenge in her eyes. A slow smile spread on his lips, and he patiently awaited for her to bring up a detail she couldn't put to rest.

"If he gently laid the bodies down, couldn't that resonate as being a rather womanly action. If this guy was killing women, strangling them, hurting them physically, degrading them... then wouldn't you say that placing them lightly on the ground would be going against his M.O.?" She smiled, satisfied with her reasoning.

"Yes, if they hadn't found his signature." Gil retaliated, his own smug smile battling amicably with hers. "He cut their throats, and then proceeded to remove part of their viscera, as a trophy."

She pressed her lips together, jesting a pout. "It's still possible."

"Cath, anything's possible. You know as much as I do, that there are exceptions to every rule, and for all we know, Jack the Ripper could have been Jacklyn the Ripper. But right now, we are working with a profile that given to us by the London Police, which is supported by a century's worth of psychological and forensic studies."

They sat in a stilled silence; Gil apologetic for taking on a harsh tone and Catherine embarrassed that he had just somewhat scolded her.

"Sorry."

She glanced at him, giving him a shy smile. "I'm sorry for pushing..."

"- no, you have a keen eye and intellect, Catherine, and I shouldn't have just shut you down like that. I apologize." He held out his hand, a friendly gesture of truce, both desired by each CSI.

"Friends." She flashed him a dazzling smile, before shifting in her seat. She toed off her shoes and curled her legs underneath her, not bothering to stifle the yawn that interrupted her flow of words. "Man, that screwdriver really did a number on me."

He sighed a laugh, his eyes still on his laptop. "Pleasant dreams." He mumbled to her, the smile still tugging at the corners of his lips, though his gaze never faltered from the screen. Suddenly, he pushed himself further back into the chair, upon feeling her legs deposit themselves into his lap. Eyes wide, he sought her stare.

"What, you don't mind, do you?" She was perplexed at his reaction, and could feel the tension riddle his lower half, rendering his muscles into rigid concrete. She leaned the side of her head against the seat, allowing her own body to conform and relax into the position she currently held.

He still sat there, bolted to the back of the seat, while his eyes stared straight ahead. He held his breath, feeling his heart hammer through his chest, knowing that just one twitch of her foot and he would have hours upon hours of explaining to do to her. Moments passed, and he tried hard not to concentrate on the painfully comfortable pressure that was being applied to the area surrounding his groin. He turned his eyes back to the screen, knowing the futility in trying to continue with his analysis.

Her mind began to slow, dropping into a serene darkness that posed no threat to her psyche. Images filtered behind closed eyes, repercussions of weeks gone by and current surroundings meshed with promises of dreams to come. Her breathing regulated and she felt her body spasm before she gave in to slumber's taunts.

He flinched, biting down hard on his lower lip to quell any embarrassing arousing developments. He carefully reached under the seat, picking up a hard-cover book. He stared at the cover, before fingering his bookmark, and opening the page to his last memory's recollection. Her movements had ceased and he listened to her quiet breathing, while he himself being transported by the imagery offered by the book in hand.

—TBC—


	4. Macky's Back in Town

Disclaimers et all in first chapter.

----------------

Somewhere lost in literature's journey, his hand had sought the weight deposited in his lap, and his hands relinquished to the itch that had been plaguing them since the first contact. He unconsciously massaged her calves through her jean-covered legs, feeling the relaxed muscles beneath his touch.

A moan halted anymore movements, and his eyes worriedly travelled to her resting form; not fearing any injury on her part, but more frightened of his reactions, having just heard one of the sexiest sounds that fortune had bestowed upon his ears. A slight grin paved way for the expected reaction, but his hands refused to stop their massaged ministerings, claiming jurisdiction from mid-thigh all the way to her toes.

He glanced out the window, seeing the lit city of Montreal down below, casting a warming glow beneath the clouds. He glanced over at the sleeping strawberry-blonde beside him and smiled lightly, selfishly wanting to see her face light-up, mirroring the array of neons shinning proud from down below. He reached over, one hand conformed around her leg, while the other gently took hold of her arm, that was draped across her exposed tummy. "Cath..."

She blinked awake, awaiting for his form to shy away from her blurred vision. Once clarity stepped forth, she tilted her head to the side, slightly grumpy from the sudden wake up call. "What?"

He nodded towards the window, and then turned back to her; a personal giddy feeling anticipating her own excitement. "Granted, it's not like Vegas but..." He trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish for waking her up to see the city lights.

She smiled her thanks, and still curled up, leaned over his body, bracing herself with her elbows on his thighs. She took in the lights, though not as grand as Vegas but still carrying an art of their own. A youthful feeling graced her soul, and she could no longer curb the smile that kept tugging at her lips until it became a full-fledged gratitude. "Thanks." She mumbled, her eyes soaking up as much of the city night-life as possible.

Gil swallowed a moan upon feeling her breast graze the side of his leg. He sat there, staring at her while she commented about the beauty of the city; he making his own parallel to her words.

Her eyes began to pull close and instead of reverting back to her previous position, she dropped her head in his lap, claiming it as her new pillow.

He held his breath, eyes kissed with uncertainty. Nervously chewing his lower lip, he finally managed to calm himself, deciding to continue reading in order to escape sweet torture, now laying with temptation. Opening his book, he flipped over to his last page, willing his mind to focus on the words and not on the sensations.

Minutes spilled to hours and Gil found his busy hand once agains roaming towards her form, however this time seeking the silk curls of her hair. Eyes still scanning the words, his fingers relished in the feel as they danced among the strands, towards her hair's tips. Reaching the book's end, he closed it and then looked down, taking in the serenity of her slumber.

A half-smile adorned his lips, realizing that tenderness can be present, due to her unconscious position. He ignored the numbness in his legs, and just stared down at her strawberry-blonde curls, fanned out around her. Chancing intimacy, he strokes a finger down the side of her cheek, enjoying the softness of her skin, while keeping his other hand a willing captive in the tangles of her hair. Control withered and his finger dared to rest longer against her skin, even tempting to dance across her full lips. He sucked in a deep breath as he gave into temptation, running his finger across her lower lip, feeling the arousing repercussions stir in the south.

Catherine moaned, stretching her limbs as she semi-awoke from her deep sleep. Eyes still closed, she exhaled a loud sigh and turned on her other side, now facing his body.

He tried to mould his body to the seat that supported him, wanting to be completely absorbed into the material. There, in his lap, was Catherine; her warm breath hitting his evident arousal. He tried once again, pushing himself further back against the seat, all the whilst avoiding waking her sleeping form. His biggest error was letting his eyes slip shut, as images of arousing intent filtered through his mind.

His eyes snapped open, realizing his inappropriate behaviour and he gently roused the sleeping beauty. Chance was on his side as he heard the captain announce their approach to Heathrow. Letting out a sigh, he placed a hand on Catherine's hip, gently rousing her. "Cath..."

Catherine turned on her back, staring up at the man that awoke her. "More lights?" She asked, taking in a deep breath in a poor attempt to wake her senses.

Gil chuckled, and glanced out the window. "We're approaching the airport." He offered her a smile, his eyes lingering on the exposed skin of her tummy. His fingers twitched, and his eyes flicked to her inquisitive stare. Moments of silence twirled by, each battling for answers to questions they both feared to ask.

Catherine watched as his mouth parted slightly, and could almost imagine the thin weave of air travelling in with his inhalation and then exhaled back out, dissipating around her. She wanted to feel that breath against her skin, she wanted him to tell her that breath was only rationed for her pleasure. She knew he was preparing to speak, and her brain alerted her ears, preparing to hopefully hear a fact that she had been waiting their whole frienship to hear.

"My legs are numb."

Both CSIs frowned at his statement, but remained still none the less.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome to London, England, the time is 11:45pm and the forecast for tonight is slightly foggy with a small chance of light showers. I ask you to buckle up as we make our decent to Heathrow Airport. Thank you for flying British Airways."

Catherine pushed herself off from his lap and settled back into her chair. She buckled the belt, while watching her best-friend stretch his legs discreetly. "You could have woken me up earlier if you were that uncomfortable."

He gave her a wink, dismissing her guilt. "It's no problem, don't worry. Besides, it was a very peaceful ride."

Her mouth dropped open in mock disbelief as he uncharacteristically poked fun at her. "Wise guy..." She muttered under her breath as she felt the plane begin its descent. She glanced over, and flashed him a thankful smile upon seeing his hand offered to her. Placing her in his, she closed her eyes and leaned back, feeling the plane tip downwards.

* * *

After having finished checking out their suitcases, Catherine and Gil stood outside the airport, breathing in the refreshing drizzled air. They were about to step into an awaiting cab when they heard a scream echoing from the alley beside the airport. Picking up their suitcases, both CSIs rushed towards the direction of the terrorized scream, stopping short behind a woman in hysterics. 

Catherine stepped in front of her, ushering the terrified flight attendant away from the crime scene, while Gil stood in place, staring down at the victim. Catherine walked up to him, standing close by his side, and pressed her head shoulder, looking away from the horrific scene.

Gil sighed, shaking his head, his eyes trailing over the dead body, taking in the slashed throat, the shredded clothes and the concentration of blood near her genital area. He dropped his head to chest, though his eyes never strayed from the mutilated woman. "Macky's back in town..."

–TBC–


End file.
